


The start of something - not so - new

by dreamxcon



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur is sick, Dreamhusbands, Eames is a protective mama, Fluff, M/M, Soup is involved, non-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4427558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamxcon/pseuds/dreamxcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has a very annoying cold. Eames comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The start of something - not so - new

The rain outside Arthur's windows was slowly building up, heavy raindrops staining the thin glass.

He was curled up on his Mid-Century modern, black sofa, a blanket tightly wrapped around his shivering frame as he struggled to find warmth.

He could feel his cold getting out of hand. The way his eyes kept watering up, gooey, disgusting liquid dripping from his nose and the complete inability to breathe properly, made him angry. Every single part of his body hurt, both his muscles and his bones had given up on him and the constant rain made the temperature in his 82nd floor, New York apartment fall below zero. 

For the first time in his entire life, Arthur felt like he couldn't deal with this alone-hell, he was the best Point Man around, he could lurk inside your mind and dig out your deepest secrets, but a damn cold rendered him useless.

 

He started fishing for his phone between the flat, square cushions. When he finally found it, he began scrolling through his contacts, hoping to find someone, _anyone_ who could help.  
  
Dom wasn't even in America at the time. Neither was Ariadne...the only one left was-- _Eames_.  
  
Just in the thought of having to ask Eames to come over to his apartment at 12 in the fucking night made his stomach twist. And even though he would deny it, even to himself, he'd started processing the idea, finding no reason whatsoever not to ask such a--simple favor from his co-worker.

Eames and Arthur they--let's say they had a past. Nothing too serious or long term. They'd just fooled around a couple times, especially after the Fisher job...  
Neither of them understood why they never got together. Not just together, but  _together-_ together. Both of them had now moved permanently in New York, only leaving for short periods of time for a job, even though they'd started to slowly withdraw from the business.

There was a sudden surge of excitement bubbling in Arthur's stomach, overshadowing the constant pain in his entire body.  
His gaze shifted to scan his entire apartment; of course, everything was tidy and in their place, so he just sat back, bringing his knees close to his chest, idly admiring the astonishing skyline that unraveled just outside his window.

 

★~★~★

 

Twenty minutes later and the annoying buzzing of his doorbell violently jerked him awake. Eames was here!  
Arthur, as quickly as he could, stumbled to his feet, keeping the blanket tightly around his body.  
  
And there was Eames, his hair soaking wet with a long coat wrapped around his muscular frame. His eyes immediately examined Arthur, fixing down at his  **bare** feet.  
"Are you freaking mental?!" Eames exclaimed. "You obviously have a fever and you're not wearing socks?!"  
He didn't wait for a response. Eames pushed Arthur inside, leading him to the sofa before removing his coat and tossing it somewhere to the side. 

"Where do you keep the socks?"

"My closet, third drawer on the right." Arthur replied with a loud sneeze, his eyes watering.

 

Eames disappeared into the hall before emerging a few seconds later with a pair of red, wool socks-an old Christmas gift from Mal- in his hand.  
He sat at the edge of the sofa, down next to Arthur's feet. Pushing the blanket away, Arthur cursed under his breath at the sudden loss of warmth, squirming when Eames' cold hands rolled the socks up his bare feet.

"Did you take your temperature?" The Brit asked as he tucked Arthur's feet under the blanket once more, moving closer to place a hand on his forehead.

"Dear lord!" He groaned. "You're burning up!" He jolted to his feet, cursing absentmindedly at Arthur's stupidity as he stumped to the kitchen.

 

Arthur simply laid idly and watched him. Even though he hadn't noticed, there was a soft smile on his lips, it was just hard to tell if it was because of the warm, fuzzy feeling on his feet or the fact that Eames had driven up there in the middle of a freaking thunderstorm, just to take care of him.

"I'm making you some soup." Eames declared as he returned from the narrow hall, a bowl of water and two white towels in hand.  
He knelt next to Arthur and after soaking one of the two hand-towels, he gently placed it on Arthur's forehead. "You don't move an inch, alright?"  
Arthur nodded obligingly-not that he had a choice-, the warm compress soothing the excruciating headache that he just couldn't ignore.

Eames disappeared into the kitchen once more, the rattling of pots accompanied with the roaring thunder merging to create a surprisingly soft and calming melody that echoed inside the apartment.  
Arthur let his eyelids drop, allowing Eames' silent, melodious hums lull him to sleep.

 

★~★~★

 

There was hand on Arthur's chest, now. Accompanied by a soft, "Hey.." that gently pulled him from his slumber. The Point-man opened his eyes to see Eames once more kneeling next to him but this time, holding a bowl of steaming soup that, much to Arthur's surprise, smelled fantastic.

"C'mon, up you go." Eames, using his free hand, pushed a pillow behind Arthur's back, helping him to a more seating position. "Now, there's only a little ginger and cayenne pepper in here. It's going to help you breathe better, alright?"

Arthur nodded once before Eames started feeding him. 

Eames was  **actually** feeding Arthur. With every spoonful, Eames would gently blow on the liquid, making sure it was the right temperature before offering it.

For the first time in forever, Arthur was letting someone treat him like this--like a child. He was actually allowing someone to show they cared and normally, for any other person, that's just every day life. But not for Arthur! Arthur was always independent and never needed anyone. 

But he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't enjoying this. This care and attention, especially from Eames.

 

When the bowl finally emptied, Eames placed it on top of the glass coffee table, retrieving the pillow he'd placed behind Arthur and helping him lie down again.  
"Come on.." Arthur nudged Eames' arm, nodding for him to join in. Eames smiled, kicking off his shoes before quickly sliding under the blanket, not wanting to allow any heat to escape. 

"Thanks for--you know, this..." Arthur mumbled a minute after, allowing Eames to brush a hand through his hair.   
"Don't be silly, kitten. You know I'm always glad to see you." 

There was a sudden, warm flutter in Arthur's stomach at the sound of that particular pet name. It took him a second before he actually mustered up the courage to speak.  
"You know I-I've been thinking, maybe when I get better we can--you know go out or whatever." He avoided Eames' gaze, instead fiddling with a loose string from one of the cushions.  
"That would be lovely." Eames chirped in reply, smiling softly down at the point man.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://dreamxcon.tumblr.com/post/125066997802/your-muse-is-running-a-high-fever-and-can-barely
> 
> Cute fic, terrible writing yaaaaaaaaay <3


End file.
